Rabbit Heart Lion Heart
by asylumsession
Summary: Unsightly, unsightly, unsightly, his mind keeps skipping like a broken record. It's been damaged for as long as he can remember, repeating over and over since that day when he was young.


Oftentimes, Shouto wakes to his scar throbbing.

Cold sweat drips down the back of his neck, his chest heaves, his heart feels like it's in his throat, and his scar _aches aches aches_ to its rhythm. For just a moment, he is _frightened,_ terror overtaking his body and wrapping around his throat like a noose. _Unsightly, unsightly, unsightly,_ his mind keeps skipping like a broken record. It's been damaged for as long as he can remember, repeating over and over since _that_ day when he received his scar.

Shouto can't remember the last time he cried. He thinks he's out of tears by now.

The morning sun filters through his window, faint and delicate, spreading like liquid across the floor and embracing the parts of his room it can reach. His bed is too far aside for it, and Shouto feels a sort of detachment - here he is, lurking in the shadows, and the sun is _right there_ , but he can't bring himself to step into it.

Shouto knows he won't sleep again, but he curls up and tries regardless.

( _Shouto_ , his mother tells him in his dreams, white clouds of breath floating around her, hair whipping like a wraith, but fingers gentle, gentle, and cold and so _real_ against his cheek, _never forget who you are. Never forget what it is that you can do. This power of yours belongs to you and you alone. You are not your father's plaything._

And then she vanishes, dissolves into thin air as in her wake Enji looms, and he is tall, taller, tallest. He smiles, says, _I do this because I care for you._

Shouto only thinks, _this is not love.)_

When sleep doesn't come to him, Shouto takes to the outdoors. The morning air is chilled, nipping at his cheeks and rolling over his skin, dragging goosebumps up with long, cold fingers. Running clears his head - it gives him a chance to allow his more intrusive thoughts to blow away into the rising sun, just for a moment. When he runs, Shouto feels free, like he's flying, like he's weightless and in a constant state of free fall, feet never touching the ground. He runs until he's breathing hard and then he runs some more.

He remembers, vividly, that the festival had been that day.

It's odd, he thinks later - he only remembers it specifically because of his run that day, specifically because of the sensations and the wind dragging wiry fingers through his dual colored hair. When he arrives home from the run, his father is waiting, all fury and coldness crushed into one looming man.

Shouto does not fear his father. He does not _fear_ Todoroki Enji. He fears what Todoroki Enji can do, _will_ do, without hesitation. He fears _Endeavor_ , all scorching flames and merciless fists and cold, cold, cold eyes. Shouto fears his own lack of courage to do anything but petty rebellion. He is not his mother; he won't step forward to take the blows when they're aimed at someone else. Something always swells in his throat, something always screams _stop him_ , or _say something, you coward_ , but he never does.

The festival takes place at night, in the center of the city.

Enji doesn't want to go, and his displeasure shows in the flex of his arms, the slow, downward drawl of his lips. Nonetheless, he takes Shouto by the arm and they go - he's got a reputation to uphold, and there are people expecting him. So he goes, and Shouto knows that Enji will show his displeasure later, knows there will be hell to pay when they're away from prying eyes.

Shouto is a teenager, but he sees the way others his age run around the festival, laughing and chattering, and realizes there's this distance between him and everyone else that he never quite managed to close.

He dubs it the Incident - one moment, his father is talking to someone, someone of stature, someone who will be a good connection in the future, and the next a hand is curling around Shouto's arm and he _flinches_ , but there's a voice, soothing and soft and feminine in his ear. She's talking quickly, too quickly, and he can't see her face, but a part of him doesn't _want_ to turn.

"Todoroki Shouto," she's saying, voice disembodied, all around him, in his head, "I come bearing a gift for you. Remember, young one, courage comes when you need it most, when you least expect it. Do not abuse it - you will learn or you will suffer as you never have before."

And then it's gone, she's gone, and there's a weight in his hand but his father is coming back so he shoves it away into the folds of his yukata without pausing to think.

Later, long after the festival is over, long after he's taken to the refuge of his room, holding his breath, waiting for the sound of footsteps that never come, Shouto fishes the weight out. It's a small box, the size of a ring case, containing a single, marble shaped ball that's swirling with reds and yellows and greens. _Courage,_ reads the inner case, _take caution, for too much of something good can have negative consequences._

 _Courage,_ Shouto thinks, this rabbit hearted boy, staring down something that could potentially change life as he knows it. _Courage,_ Shouto thinks again, whispers it, craves the way it tastes on his tongue, the way it swells in his throat, begging, pleading to be freed, a bird beating against the cage of ribs and skin. _Courage,_ Todoroki Shouto thinks, and he doesn't pause to consider the woman's warning, the box's warning, or even how this works, but suddenly the reds and greens and yellows explode against his tongue and _consume consume consume._

There's a sort of beauty in his anger.

Shouto has two breeds of anger. One like ice, cold, creeping, unnerving, and inescapable. The other like fire, blazing, raging, ravenous, and bearing down on anyone and anything in its path.. To combine the both of them is to bring about the end, to bring about destruction and true fury. To combine the both of them is what this dose of courage does to him, brings fire licking up his throat like vindictive pleasure and ice creeping from his teeth like vengeance.

He craves for the feeling long after it fades.

Shouto comes to learn that the orb reappears after the courage wears away. He's careful with it at first, keeping the box from prying eyes and taking a dose only when the darkness threatens to swallow him in the depths of nighttime. There's something ecstatic, something _addicting_ about the sensation of unadulterated courage.

The morning of Shouto's first day at U.A, his father's steps come marching down the hall, rhythmic and heavy. They thump in time with Shouto's heartbeat as he jolts awake, rolls out of bed, and _pauses._ The box lays just in his line of vision, dark and velvet and tantalizing. _Take one,_ it coos.

Shouto does not resist. He feels the ice creep down his throat, the fire inflate in his lungs, the courage seep through his veins, slow and lethargic like venom.

Before, when Enji stepped into the threshold of Shouto's only safe haven, Shouto would cower, recoil, step back, _away away away_. Now he stands straight, staring into the eyes of his tormentor. Todoroki Enji is just a man like any other, and Shouto can't believe it's taken this dose of courage for him to realize that. This time, when Enji reaches for him, Shouto swats his hand away.

"Don't touch me," he snarls.

Enji's shoulders burst into flames, angry and scorching and cruel. "Don't you _dare_ speak to me like th-"

This, Shouto realizes, is where he would feel fear. This is where he would fear for his life, his mother's life, his sister's life. But he feels nothing, nothing but his own fury swelling in his throat like a symphony, discordant notes ready to spill from his teeth. He feels nothing but the courage egging him on, whispering in his ears, _do it do it face your fears my lamb tell me how it feels to burn._

Shouto sneers at his father, at Enji, at Endeavor, at the man who haunts his sleep at night. " _You_ were the one who wanted me to go to U.A in the first place - now you aren't going to let me get ready to go in peace?"

 _What are you going to do, father?_ He thinks. _Hit me?_

But Enji only holds his gaze, furious and trembling, and then turns on his heel and marches out.

The courage wears off as Shouto approaches U.A. It's sudden; his legs nearly come out from beneath him, trembling with exhilaration left over from the argument. He staggers, ducks into the nearest restroom, and hides himself in the first stall. Instinctively, he grabs for the comfort of the box - it's in his bag, tucked into a little pocket. His fingers drag over it, but he just takes a deep breath and steps out. U.A waits for no one.

There's something foreign about the school, about the way it's so _bright_ and _hopeful._ The energy is consistently high, as Shouto comes to learn, and he does not have the courage to face these people who understand who they are and where they're going. He doesn't have the courage to face his classmates, faces of all kinds who have reasons for being here, reasons for wanting to be a hero that Shouto lacks.

Shouto is distinctively aware that he doesn't belong her among these people with their smiling features and loud laughs as they flock together. _Birds,_ he thinks. It's always birds.

Shouto doesn't flock towards anybody.

 _Take caution,_ the warning within the box still reads, but Shouto begins to ignore it. The courage makes him feel powerful, fearless in the face of death, fearless in the face of destruction, fearless in the face of a hero training challenge and in the face of villains pursuing him in a landslide zone.

 _Do not abuse it,_ the woman's voice repeats in his head, but Shouto tunes it out, uses the courage more and more. The colors in the orb begin to darken and dull, vibrant yellows and reds turning dark and sickly. The latter part of her warning is lost to time.

Shouto is ravenous, desperate. His mind no longer repeats _unsightly_ , but _more, more, more._ His strength begins to wane, and no amount of training helps restore it.

Midoriya Izuku chooses that moment to stumble into his life. Shouto doesn't know the boy, but he recognizes his resolve, recognizes that _Midoriya_ is the one he needs to beat if he's going to find his way towards his own goal, whatever it may be.

There's a sort of vindictiveness in the fear that swells in his chest when he's forced to use his flames against this matchstick boy. For a moment, he craves for the sensation of his solid courage melting on his tongue, but he can't get it yet. Not yet. Not yet.

Midoriya's eyes are emerald flints, and Shouto feels nothing but terror as he burns beneath his stare.

He takes another dose of courage and promptly doubles over, seized by a coughing fit. His lungs rattle, fingers tremble, but he is strong, strong enough for this, and he takes Midoriya aside in a dark corridor, stares him down and recognizes his own brand of fear staring back at him.

"I promise you," he tells Midoriya, holding his ocean eyes - Shouto wants to _sink sink sink_ \- without blinking, "my pain was never poetic. It was going days without rest and acting as though I was stable enough to carry on."

"But you never were," Midoriya whispers, like he _understands._

"No," says Shouto, "I wasn't."

Midoriya looks at Shouto like he understands him, but they're still leagues apart and Shouto realizes this in the midst of his battle with Midoriya. Sero had been courageous, daring to fight a battle he'd known he couldn't win. Midoriya fought a battle he had a shot at winning - and gave it up. Midoriya is all fire in a different way, all broken bones and bruised hands and something warm and pulsing and _powerful_.

 _This_ is what it means to have courage. Midoriya is the epitome of it, and the sheer force takes Shouto's breath away.

( _It's your power, isn't it?_

Somewhere, along the way, Shouto had forgotten.)

He doesn't win the Sports Festival. At some point in the process, he resigns himself to his thoughts, about himself, about Midoriya, about people like Uraraka and Sero and Bakugou. _I want to be like them,_ he thinks. He takes another dose of his courage, feels it crawl down his throat, molten and painful.

 _Take caution_ , the inside of the small box still reads. Shouto watches the orb, black as night, reform in the small indention.

And then he doubles over, feels blood trickle from between his lips, and blacks out.

(~~)

In his dream, Shouto's mother sits by his bedside. She's gazing out the window when he comes to, hair swaying gently in the warm summer breeze. Her hands are clasped in her lap, soft and uncalloused, framed by sleeve that are a yellow so distinctively different from what he's used to that it nearly brings tears to his eyes. Rationally, he knows this is a dream - for all the courage he's been given, he has yet to use any of it to go see her.

Perhaps he isn't as courageous as he'd hoped to be.

But then she turns and looks at him, really looks at _him_ and not at the half of him he despises, and smiles the gentle smile he remembers, and Shouto feels a warmth slip from his eyes that he hasn't felt in a long time.

"Shouto," she says, "my beautiful son."

"Mom," he replies, voice cracking pitifully, fingers reaching out, passing through her. He can't remember the sensation of touching her well enough to replicate it, but he's never forgotten the gentleness of her fingers against his face.

She reaches out and touches his cheek, fingers cold, soft, familiar.

"Stay soft, Shouto. It looks beautiful on you," she tells him, "and children should not have to fight and suffer to be young. There's courage in being scared, my lion."

"I love you." Shouto blurts. "I'm sorry. I haven't come to see you."

She only smiles. "I love you too, Shouto."

When she leans in to press her lips to his forehead, Shouto wakes. He's staring up at a white ceiling, where the overhead fan shakes rhythmically and creaks as it goes around. _It's broken,_ he thinks, turning his gaze slowly to look around. Everything aches and his lungs feel like they're burning. The courage is gone - by now, he recognizes the gaping emptiness where it usually fills.

Midoriya is by the bedside, fast asleep.

His eyebrows are pinched, as though he'd been worried, and he twitches when Shouto's gaze falls on him, but doesn't wake. Shouto hears someone approach, but he doesn't shift to look.

"You're lucky," the woman's voice says, "he found you in the hall and carried you here, even though he was under explicit orders not to use his right arm after that fight of yours."

 _Ah_ , Shouto thinks. So then this must be the nurses' office. There's a twinge of guilt.

"I'm sorry," he says, but he doesn't know if he's talking to the nurse or Midoriya.

Midoriya chooses that moment to jerk awake. "You're awake!" He gasps, gaze fixing on Shouto.

"I am," Shouto replies, blinking back at him. He reaches up slowly to touch his own face. There are trails there, beneath his fingers, and he takes the time to wipe them away. "Thank you, Midoriya."

Midoriya straightens. "For what?"

"Everything," Shouto tells him.

Midoriya doesn't know it yet, but Shouto thinks he's ready to find his own courage.

"I think," Shouto continues, "I'm going to visit my mother."

Midoriya smiles, and Shouto flocks to it like a moth to a flame. "I'm glad," says Midoriya.

( _Take caution,_ the label reads, but Shouto ignores it. He doesn't need the warning anymore.

It takes plenty of courage to throw the box away.)


End file.
